


The Mission to Supply Closet Delta

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Supply Closet in the medical wing was a mystery. And he couldn't stand not being in on a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mission to Supply Closet Delta

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Mystery of Supply Closet Delta](https://archiveofourown.org/works/414857) by [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty). 



This would take all his cunning, all his skills, it was a mission he would not fail. But it would not be easy, he had to navigate the treacherous lair of the chief Medical Officer and his all seeing minions without being spotted. 

It was not an easy route, the first room he had to pass through had a buzzer attached to let the medical staff know somebody had entered. And there was nowhere to hide, only a few seats and a single berth scattered around for mechs either waiting to go in or for those waiting to be allowed in to visit.

However it was a well known fact that few mechs ever looked up, so he was able to scamper up the wall, magnets adhering him to the roof as he held all his systems in check as Hoist poked his helm out before retreating again with a mutter about getting the electronics checked out.

He lowered himself back to the ground with the same care he would take when stalking through Darkmount, his visor dimmed as he carefully poked his helm around the doorframe.

No movement, and the lights were low in the main wing, although the office was lit, a thin line of light streaming out through the gap around the door and through the small window. The faint tap of fingers on keys audible and he slunk forwards, keeping to the edge of the room and low to the floor lest his shadow give him away if the mech working chanced to glance up.

He barely had chance to dive under a berth as the office door slid open, Hoist padding across the medbay and into one of the isolation wards. He holds still, he doesn't know how long the medic will be in there for, he could exit at any time and there is no more cover between where he is clinging to the underside of a berth and his objective.

It is long enough that his gears start to protest the strange position, and then Hoist returns to the office, muttering to himself about supplies.

He pokes his helm up cautiously, he is so close to his goal he cannot fail now. The coast is clear and he makes a dash for the small, unobtrusive door. In fact it is identical to the other three storage closets located at the back of the medbay. The difference is that there are strange rumours about this particular closet, and even stranger, Prowl refuses to investigate.

The door slides open at his touch, not even a simple lock barring him entry. He moves to one side in a crouch, senses hyperaware and dialled as high as they can go.

It is just a closet.

Nothing unusual.

No rack of gruesome medical tools, no stored spark chambers, nothing remotely like any of the rumours circulating the hallways of the newly commissioned Ark. In fact it was so boringly normal he could have simply strode in, no need for the sneaking and the theatrics.

He stood up with a whirr of gears, no need to keep silent any longer, and it almost, almost covered up the small beep as he brushed against something as he straightened. He twisted, staring at the small pad set on the wall for a few seconds before .

“Hello Jazz.”

Busted.

He turned back around slowly, reluctant to face his doom. Ratchet gave him a slag eating grin as the spy's visor brightened slightly in surprise at the new décor in the no-longer-a-closet room. “Uh, hi, I was just, ah, leaving.” He suited actions to words as he groped for the door release panel as the medic bore down on him.

“Really? I think not.” He abandoned his fumbling for the door, realising that the reason it wasn't opening was that it was locked and he was now very much trapped. Medics, he remembered far too late could move as fast as racers when they thought a patient was making a run for it. Ratchet made good use of that ability to bring Jazz down.

He yelped as they clattered to the floor, only quick reflexes stopping his face from becoming very well aquainted with the floor. Ratchet on the other hand had neatly twisted his frame mid-fall so that he was on top.

“What are you doing?” A second thought occurred and he realised that he could still complete his mission, although not in the way he had expected. “What is this place?”

Ratchet let him up, just enough to turn over, not to actually stand up. “Welcome to medical Rand R.”

* * *

“Jazz?”

“Huh? What?” He frowned at the face peering at him.

“You didn't turn up for your shift.” Mirage explained as he waited for Jazz to complete his boot sequence. “Where were you?”

Jazz tilted his helm, something tugging at his memory core, but it was just out of reach. “I have no idea.”


End file.
